#Hurt Raph | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

red-vortex · 2 years ago

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The Hours Between (part 1/6)

Prompt: “I’m fine”

Incarnation: TMNT (2007)

Pairing: Mikey/Raph

Rating: T for broken bones

Summary: Nightwatcher business is not without its risks. Raph comes home with a broken bone and lucky for him, Mikey is always there to help. (Set sometime before the events of the movie)

For the @badthingshappenbingo

Damn it.

He was stupid. So stupid.

Raph stumbled through the lair, pausing every minute or so to swallow back his harsh gulps of air. His legs felt wobbly, his steps shamefully lacking stealth. His left wrist, aching like crazy, was tucked tight beneath his other arm, as though the pressure could help with the pain that throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

It had taken him way too long to make his way back to his bike. And then way too long to swear a blue streak as he realized he couldn’t drive the damn thing with a maybe-sprained, probably-broken wrist.

Best he could do was drag the bike out of sight, hope no one messed with it until he had a chance to go back to get it, and then do his best to sneak back to the lair. Taking off the Nightwatcher gear one-handed was an experience. He’d had to shimmy his way out of most of it, grateful that no one was there to witness his graceless undressing.

Damn it. This one hurt.

He’d suffered worse injuries, sure. Deep slashes, concussions, broken bones, gunshot wounds even. Injuries that he still felt, every so often, when he moved wrong or the air got too humid. He’d caught his share of bruises in the Nightwatcher getup, but it felt like so long since he’d nursed a real injury.

They didn’t spar anymore, the three of them. He didn’t even have the chance to revel in sore muscles from throwing too many kicks with his brothers.

Maybe he was getting old. He felt old. Tired and achy. Maybe his body, maybe his heart. He couldn’t tell these days.

The lair was quiet. Donnie had work in the morning. Mikey probably did too. Splinter’s favourite show didn’t start until 9am. No one saw Raph slipping over to the kitchen. And even if they did, what did it matter? They assumed he slept all night and day. Hell, if he was doing that, you’d think they’d give a crap. That he was depressed or anemic or whatever. He’d laugh about it if his wrist didn’t hurt so much.

He just needed ice. He could hide in his room until his wrist didn’t look bad anymore. What did it matter? If they weren’t concerned about his alleged sleeping habits before, they certainly weren’t going to start now.

Raph rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing a hand towel, fumbling through a pile of frozen-solid cake slices (wasn’t anybody eating these, why were there so many) and hoping to God there was a filled ice cube tray in there somewhere.

There was. He pulled it out, staring at the cubes, wondering about the quietest way to pry the cubes out and stack them in a hand towel and disappear in his room to sleep off the pain.

“Oh! Hey Raph!”

Raph yelped, sending the ice tray clattering to the ground. Shit. Well, that was one way.

Some ninja he was, letting Mikey of all people sneak up on him. “What the hell! What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I live here. Remember?” Mikey’s chuckle took the sting out of it. “Oh yeah, I guess it’s been a while since we’ve run into each other. You’ve probably forgotten me. Hi, I’m Michelangelo, I have a black belt in skateboarding. I enjoy pizza for breakfast and long walks on the beach.”

Raph sighed. Great, now a headache was threatening to overtake the throb in his wrist. “What are you doing up?”

It was… crap, what time was it? He thought it was still night out. The coveted ‘wee hours of the morning’. Was it morning already? Had it taken him that long to get back to the lair?

Mikey cracked a yawn. “I know, I know. 6am should be illegal. But duty calls! Cowabunga Carl’s got a gig in Jersey, so… early road trip, you know?”

“Hm.” Raph kicked at one of the wayward cubes. Now he had a wrist, a mess, and Mikey to deal with. He got down to one knee, felt it go click (hello, old injuries) and gathered a few cubes in one hand, tossing them back into the fallen tray. Mikey crouched down to help.

“Raph? You good bro?” He zeroed in on the way Raph held his arm, hand stiff and useless against his plastron. “You burn yourself or something? If you suck at cooking that much, I can make you something.”

He probably wasn’t kidding, and somehow that made Raph feel a hundred times worse. They’d barely said two words to each other in two weeks, yet he knew that if he asked, Mikey would put his heart and soul into making Raph a sandwich, or scrambled eggs, or even beef Wellington or whatever.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure you’re fine, but do you need help?”

“I said I’m fine, so no. Don’t you have to go scare some kids in Jersey?”

“Yeah, but I gave myself extra time to get ready, get lost a couple of times on the way over, stop at a drive-thru to get my zen back, and then find the place. I’m good. Are you, though?”

Raph sighed. He was too tired for anger, in too much pain to put up a front. And Mikey was right there, and damn it, he missed the little idiot.

“… Think I broke my wrist,” Raph said. He picked a spot on the floor that wasn’t covered in quietly melting ice cubes and sat down, carapace against the cabinet door. Yeah, he was lucky it was Mikey crouching there. Donnie and Splinter would have a million follow-up questions, and Leo would have…

… well Leo didn’t matter, because the jerk wasn’t even here to ask questions.

But Mikey, well. He preferred action to words. “Dude, that sucks. Can I help? You know what, stay there. I got this.”

So Raph stayed right there, tucking his knees to his plastron and resting his busted hand on top of them. Some Nightwatcher he was. And to think, Mikey was probably his biggest fan. It was almost worth telling him his secret identity, if only to see the excitement in his brother’s eyes.

Mikey returned triumphantly, a first aid kit in one hand and a stack of something in the other. Mikey was surprisingly good under real pressure, especially when it came to first aid.

And surprisingly efficient at cleaning, when he was motivated. A dish towel dropped to the floor, followed by Mikey’s foot, who used it to sweep away the water and leftover ice cubes. Good enough.

“All right, let me take a look at this. This is a job for Dr. Michelangelo, DDS!”

“DDS means dentist, doofus.” Snark was useful but could only do so much to mask pain. Mikey was gentle, but it still smarted something fierce as he worked to remove the guard wrapping from Raph’s wrist and cradled the hand between his own, taking a closer look at the bruises creeping up and down the swollen joint.

“Owie,” Mikey declared. Raph agreed. “How’d you do this, anyway?”

Yep, no avoiding that. Questions. “Openin’ a pickle jar.”

Mikey snorted. For a blissful moment, Raph thought he’d give up on questions, but no. He unzipped the first aid kit and rummaged while continuing to ask. “Nah, seriously, how’d you do this? This looks like you twisted it.”

Yeah, about that.

Raph hadn’t expected that encounter with the street gang to go sour. And technically it hadn’t. He’d beaten them just fine, and not one of those meathead jerks had put so much as a scratch on the Nightwatcher. Oh, they’d tried.

One punk came at him with a narrow pipe. He’d pulled out his sai, blocked the pipe, and twisted to disarm. But damn it, as much as Raph tried to train solo and keep up his skills, it was nothing compared to sparring with his brothers.

He used to be able to size up opponents and weapons in a heartbeat. He’d misjudged the weight of the pipe. He’d sent it packing, yeah, but the movement made his wrist snap in a way that made cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. Lucky for him, that was the last thug.

Disappear into the night. Stash bike. Hobble home.

Which left him here. Sitting on the floor, Mikey at his side, palpating a bruised-purple wrist, waiting for an answer.

“… Long story,” Raph muttered.

It seemed enough for now. Mikey turned his attention to his task, murmuring, “Oof, it’s pretty swollen.”

Raph liked the way his voice dropped to a low pitch when he was serious about something. Sometimes he forgot how competent Mikey could be. How good Mikey was at patching up his hurts. Donnie, for all his smarts and science, could get squeamish about injuries. Leo was too fussy. Splinter never really gave it away, but Raph had the sneaking suspicion he was disappointed whenever his sons came home with injuries. Especially Raph.

Mikey took his hand as though offering a handshake, nodding at the swollen joint. “Okay, squeeze my hand, tell me when it hurts.”

Raph found himself obeying, naturally, comforted by Mikey’s tending. How long had it been since he’d just… hung out with his brothers? Since they’d given him a hug or asked how he was doing without making a crack about him sleeping in until 3 in the afternoon?

Mikey’s hand was warm and he wanted to squeeze just to enjoy a bit of physical contact. But as he tried his damnedest to squeeze, his hand started to shake and the flare of pain forced a sad grunt past his lips.

“Okay, so probably broken,” Mikey tsked. He kept his hand loosely wrapped around his brother’s, moving the joint up and down and rotating slowly. Raph knew from experience what he was doing, testing the range of motion, and he let Mikey manipulate his wrist for a few moments. It hurt, but it wasn’t excruciating. He could sit through the pain if it meant enjoying the contact.

Satisfied with his examination, Mikey hummed a happy little noise and rested Raph’s palm against his own while he rummaged in the area of the first aid kit.

Raph sighed. He was tired. “So, am I gonna live?”

“Oh man, this is a terminal fracture. You better leave me all your stuff. The cool stuff, only. Donnie can have the junk.” Mikey held up a gel pack, popping a cartridge in the middle and giving it a little shake. “It’s not a bad break. Probably just a little crack. I’m gonna ice it a bit and then wrap it for you, ‘kay?”

Raph nodded. Mikey didn’t let go of his hand as he draped the instant ice pack on top of it. The numbness was kind of nice. “Did you bring a whole pile of these things?”

“Haha, yeah. My personal stash. Cowabunga Carl gets knocked around a lot. I don’t think the Foot Clan ever kicked me as much. Or bit me. Or barfed on me.”

Okay, that got a smile out of him. “You’re tougher than me. I couldn’t handle that.”

“Then there’s the moms.” Mikey shuddered, lifting the ice pack and adjusting it. “Some of them flirt.”

Raph shifted on the floor. His butt was starting to go numb, but this was nice. If he asked to move to the table, Mikey might let go of him.

Raph shut his eyes. It would be so easy, right now, to just tell him. That he was the Nightwatcher. That he wasn’t a bum, that he went outside every night because staying cooped up in the lair left him twitchy, anxious, and ready to scream into a pillow from being useless.

“Mike… can you keep a secret?”

“Would it shock you if I said yes?”

“So the thing is…”

Tell him. You’re the Nightwatcher. Tell him. You hurt yourself busting some bad guys. He’ll be happy. So happy. He’ll be proud of you and think you’re cool and might even hug you.

“I broke my wrist ‘cause I… I uh… went out on a roof to do some katas. Tried some flips, didn’t stick the landing. Guess my wrist didn’t like that.”

Crap. Coward.

Mikey nodded sagely. “Thought so. I knew you were hiding something. Hey, no judgment from me, we all fall over sometimes!”

“I miss being outside. At night.” He didn’t mean for it to sound so raw. He didn’t miss the way Mikey made a sad little hum of agreement. “I miss… all of it, you know?”

“So that’s why you’re always sleeping in? ‘Cause you’re out late exercising on the roof?”

“Yeah.” Raph squirmed as Mikey removed the ice pack, gave his numb wrist a few judicious pokes, and plucked a tensor wrap from the first aid kit. “Feels good to get out. It’s just… it’s embarrassing that I messed up a flip. So let’s keep that between us.”

“Turtle’s honour, bro.” A few loops later, and Mickey pinned the tensor in place. “How’s that? Not too tight?��

“It’s fine,” Raph said. Mikey was messing with something in the kit, rattled a bottle, and handed him two ibuprofens with an encouraging smile. Any other day, he would have put up a token protest, but he took the meds without fuss.

“All right then, Dr. Michelangelo, DDS predicts you’ll be right as rain in no time!” Mikey leapt to his feet with an energy that Raph absolutely did not feel, pouring water in the nearest clean mug and handing it down. Raph didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d already dry-swallowed the pills, and sipped delicately.

“Hey, Raph?”

“Hm?”

“When you go out at night, do you uh… y’know.”

Raph swallowed. Thank God for the mug of water because now his throat felt dry. Had he maybe not fooled Mikey? “Do I what?”

“You know, the Nightwatcher!” Mikey sounded positively giddy. It did nothing for Raph’s nerves, until Mikey finished his thought. “Do you ever see him? Do you ever go looking for him? Because I would!”

Dear, sweet, innocent Mikey.

“Haven’t yet,” Raph muttered, staring at the mug. “You like him, huh?”

“Oh man!” Mikey crouched down to pack up the first aid kit, swooning with his entire being. “He’s so badass. Did anyone ever think that about us when we used to do this sort of thing? That we were badass? Ah, I’m with you, I miss it. If I didn’t have work I’d probably be up on the roof too. Maybe when Leo comes back…”

“Tell you what,” Raph interjected. Better to squash any thoughts of Leo and coming back while he could. “If I ever run into the Nightwatcher while throwing backflips on roofs, I’ll get his autograph for you.”

Mikey squealed, thrusting out a hand. Raph took it and let his brother effortlessly haul him to his feet. “This is why you’re my favourite brother!”

Tonight, anyway. Raph wasn’t anyone’s favourite anything, but he’d take what he could get. “Thanks. And remember… don’t tell Donnie and Sensei I busted my wrist, okay? I feel stupid enough as it is.”

Mikey nodded conspiratorially, and Raph was certain he would never more closely guard a secret in his life. “Count on me. Here, take the packs and try to keep it iced. You’ll be back to punching me in the arm in no time.”

He pressed five ice packs into Raph’s good arm, gave it a thought, then took one back.

“… Might need one after the gig today. All right, duty calls! Catch ya later!”

Mikey grinned big and wide and whirled away. Yeah. Way too much energy for this time of morning.

“Hey… Mikey?” Raph called out. Mikey, already halfway out the exit, spun in place. Raph waved his tensor-wrapped hand at him. “… Thanks.”

Mikey’s answering smile was the very definition of sunshine. “I got you, bro! You know I always got your stupid butt.”

Cradling his wrist, now down to a dull ache, Raph hobbled to his room. He bolted the door and crawled into bed. Either the ibuprofens were kicking in or he was too tired to worry about pain, spiralling into sleep with thoughts of Mikey’s smile. With everything else happening, it was nice to know someone still had his stupid butt.

#TMNT #Raphael #Michelangelo #Raph #Mikey #TMNT 2007 #Mikey/Raph #Hurt Raph #No tcest in this but there will be in later parts

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